


Its Still The Same Old Story

by Must-Be-Thursday (Cleveland)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean, Gen, The Family Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleveland/pseuds/Must-Be-Thursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a song that they all know, even if they can't remember why they know it. Passed down through the generations, it ties them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its Still The Same Old Story

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at ff.net on 2/11/2013

**Early March 1954:**

Soft music comes through the archway from living room to kitchen, the air smells like roasting turkey and apple pie. Through the pops and crackles the sound of Ella Fitzgerald singing Cheek to Cheek can be heard. Henry Winchester twirls a very pregnant and laughing Mrs. Winchester to the music.

They are barefoot and Henry bumps his elbow once or twice against the Frigidaire as they dance over the linoleum floor. She is laughing at all of his baby name suggestions. He insists that Irving is a very strong name, but she prefers Oscar. He counters with Harold and she suggests George.

"John. Let's name him John." she says after he brings her up from a low dip.

The song changes, now Louis Armstrong is growling out As Time Goes By. Henry kisses his wife on the tip of her button nose.

"I love it."

 

**Late 1957**

"Play the song, daddy." John says, tugging at his fathers shirtsleeve.

Henry cranks the little music box a few times before lifting the lid. He sets the little box on the table, kissing John softly on the forehead and tucking the covers up to his chin. He hands him his favorite stuffed animal and gives the mangy thing a little kiss too.

"Will you sing it Daddy?"

Henry gives a fake put upon sigh and pretends to think about it.

"Just this once." he says giving John a wink.

"You must remember this;

a kiss is just a kiss,

a sigh is just a sigh.

The fundamental things apply,  
as time goes by."

He continues even after the music box stops its tinkling melody and John is asleep. He clicks on his son's airplane nightlight and softly closes the door until its open just a crack and his head is peeking through.

"Goodnight John."

**1958**

John can hear the sound of his mother crying over the record player. She has been in her room all day playing daddy's records. He has been missing for two weeks and John knows what she thinks, but he would never run out on them. The police will find him. He'll come home.

John is hungry and he feels his stomach growl. He was going to make himself a sandwich but he couldn't reach the breadbox so he had gone back to his room. He could hear the break between when a record stopped and his mother put on a new one. They all sounded the same, quiet and sad. His stomach growled for what had to be the hundredth time that day. He wonders for half a minute if mommy will get out of bed tomorrow, he half hopes she doesn't so he doesn't have to face her tired red eyes.

He tucks himself into bed and cranks his music box over and over until the pieces inside snap and it breaks.

**1976**

Mary had really grown on him since she first came into the shop to get work done on her dad's car. Her laugh and her smile come easy. She cracks jokes over dinner with her family, sees him through any awkwardness. They go to the drive in a lot because its quiet, and no one will bother them, and Mary is a bit of a movie nerd.

One night she drags him to Casablanca. Not many people are there, only a handful of cars. They get the same things they always do, John likes popcorn with his movies and Mary likes licorice. She lays her head on his shoulder. He's quiet the whole time until she takes his hand, her bracelet gleaming in the moon light. She gives him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I think you should marry me." she states simply.

John stares at her, as she continues to look at him evenly, still just holding his hand. He had planned this and the plan was very different, but it was on the table now so he should probably say something. Mary had begun gnawing on another piece of candy while she waited for him to process.

"Okay." he tries to sound calm but he knows Mary will see through it.

"Okay." she replies.

**1979**

Dean has colic. All he seems to do is cry and cry and then find a spare minute to cry some more. Mary had passed out a little after dinner, wore out from all the other things she had to worry about on top of a shrieking baby. She had handed John several premade bottles and a pacifier. She showed him how to give a stomach massage to relieve gas. Her thick and dog-eared parenting bible was thumped down on the changing table.

John took a seat in the rocking chair in the nursery. Dean was already fussing in his arms and it looked like he was going to work himself into a particularly nasty cry. The thing with colic is you can't do much about it besides try to make the baby comfortable and wait it out. John made sure before he even sat down that Dean was fed, and burped, and dry. Then he tucked his tiny son against his shoulder since that was his favored position.

At first the crying is intense and Dean's face is hot and red with the effort of bawling. Occasionally it would settle down from tornado warning levels of loud and sort of hiccup itself out for a minute or two. During the brief moments of peace John would rock him and coo soft nonsense. Mary had always been the one ready to sing a lullaby or play her old Beatles records to get Dean to drift off. Her voice was melodious and always sounded better. And she was Dean's mother, he would always respond better to her.

John could hardly sing, but he would hum. Some soft half remembered song about kisses and sighs. Eventually Dean would run out of steam and drift off in his arms. John would carefully lay him down in his crib, click on the baby monitor, and shuffle back to nestle in next to Mary for a few hours of sleep.

**November 2, 1983**

John has trouble sleeping some nights. This is one of those nights. Everything is quiet, but it doesn't seem to be a good quiet. Sam is a much easier baby to deal with than Dean had been. Maybe it was just easier the second time around. The baby monitor is only playing the soft static sound of Sammy's breathing. John gets up and checks anyway.

Sam is laying exactly as Mary left him, on his back with one hand in a fist and the other open like he's stretching it. Shadows from headlights play over his face and he looks peaceful. John tiptoes out of the nursery and down the stairs. He stumbles into the kitchen and makes some popcorn to eat while he sits in front of the tv. Casablanca is on one of the old movie channels and fond memories of a date with Mary wash over him. Eventually he dozes of feeling much better than when he originally went to bed.

He wakes up to the sound of Mary screaming.

**1989**

Dean is ten and Sam is five. Dad has been gone for slightly over a week, which isn't new, but the fact that he hasn't called in four days is. Dean has gotten sick of Sam asking when dad will be back. He is running out of lies and getting worried himself because John could be dead somewhere and they will never know. If Dean wasn't there he is sure Sam would just sit around and pine at the door until he starved to death.

But Dean wouldn't let him. He fed him three square meals, even if they were Lucky Charms and Chef Boyardee. He was going through a picky phase. At least he was eating. He was also sniffling. And not in a sad 'I miss my dad.' kind of way, more of a 'I'm going to be nuclear meltdown sick in a matter of hours' sniffling. Dean is lucky he stashed a bottle of cold medicine and a couple cans of Campbell's in the bottom of his duffle.

Sam is stuffed into every warm item of clothing the two own, then he had snatched both comforters from the beds and rolled himself up into a little Sam burrito on the couch because he read somewhere that you could sweat out a cold. And he had been sweating, his first layer and his socks were sweat through. Dean was in the lilliputian kitchenette heating a lump that was supposed to be cream of chicken soup.

After some cursing and the clever application of the directions on the side of the can, Dean managed to get the soup made. Just in time to see his brother's head nod in sleep. Dean set the bowl on the table anyway. He could just reheat it later. He did go back to his bag and grab the bottle of cough syrup. He poured a big glass of water and filled the little cup that came with the syrup up to the fill line.

"Hey Sammy." he carefully nudged his brother. "Stay awake for a minute and take your medicine."

He expected Sam to either remain asleep of tell him flat out no. But instead he shook his head a bit as if to clear it, then blinked his big puppy eyes at Dean. Dean put the cup to his lips and he tilted his head back quick before making an exaggerated 'yuck!' face and sticking his tongue out. Dean handed his brother the glass of water and he took three big gulps, savoring the cool liquid. Dean set it down on the floor and crawled onto the couch next to Sam.

"Dean? When is dad gonna be back?" he said, settling his head on Dean's lap.

"Any day now. Last night he called and said he really misses us and he'll be back soon."

If Sam knew it was a lie, he didn't say anything, just focused on his cartoons and let Dean stroke his hair. But only because he was sick, and Dean was supposed to when he was sick. Soon he was drifting in and out of sleep. He could hear Dean humming, and even though Dean had little to no musical talent, he could recognize the song as something Dad would hum or sometimes whistle while he worked on the impala, or while he drove. It reminded him of dad.

John got back a few hours after both boys had fallen asleep. He was bloody with a deep gash on one cheek, his phone had been smashed while he was taking out some witches. After a shower and a quick application of antiseptic he scooped up both his boys and tucked them into bed, clicking off the tv as he went.

**2013**

Dean and Sam had just met their grandfather. And he was annoying the shit out of Dean with his weird behavior, obvious lack of combat skills, and most of all his whistling.

"What is that? I know that tune." he finally asks

"As Time Goes By. I hope so. It's from Casablanca."

Even then its hard to place. Dean's seen part of that movie, maybe once. Its fairly long, not full of explosions, and almost never on in the tv in their seedy motels. He looks to Sam for conformation but Sam's face is blank. Then it lights into a half smile of recognition.

"Right. Dad used to whistle it from time to time."

And then it clicks in place. Summer days spent fixing the impala, times when someone was injured more than a scratch or they were sick, when dad was especially stressed. Just a couple bars, but it was there.

"Your father saw Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy at the drive-in one night. It scared the beeswax out of him. So I got him this little music box that played that song to help him sleep at night. It worked like a charm." tells them

"Wow, it's hard to believe Dad was ever scared of anything." Sam says.

That was Dean's first thought too until he remembered exactly how scared he generally was on a daily basis without showing it. For a second or two they are all thinking about John until Dean breaks the silence with a bit of information from the laptop.

**Still 2013**

Sam slides the key out of the box they have been given and opens the door to the old Men of Letters hideout. They tour the vast number of rooms. There's everything anyone could want. Libraries filled with priceless books, bathrooms with huge iron clawed tubs and showers with endless warm water, kitchens fit for Julia Child, bunkrooms and bedrooms of all sizes, long wooden tables with radios and other electronics, even a record player and a huge collection of music.

The first night they enjoy showers and, dinner, and the prospect of soft, warm beds. Its Sam who finds the record in one of the many disorganized piles. He didn't know what he was looking for but he recognized some of the names. A thin strip of red caught his eye, the cover was mostly faded, so he pulled the record out. And there plain as day were the words 'Frank Sinatra' and 'As Time Goes By'. Sam settle the record on the player and dropped the needle.

_It's still the same old story_  
A fight for love and glory  
A case of do or die  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by 


End file.
